Singing in the Shower
by George Weasley's Girlfriend
Summary: A man recounts the tale of his wife's murder in an angst-filled story about love, life and death in the magical world.


**Author:** George Weasley's Girlfriend

**Title:** Singing in the Shower

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimers:** Stuff created by Ms. J. K. Rowling belongs to her. Stuff created by me belongs to me. It's that simple

**Author's Notes:** This is a totally plotless sequel to [The Real George Weasley][1]. Read that first to understand this one, but I suppose you can skip it if you get lazy. Any thanks go to my beta reader, poosh. Thanks, babe! Oh, and ten points to the house of whoever sees the similarity between the beginning of the second section and a Stephen King novel. Which novel? To get the "points," you tell me in review/[e-mail][2]. The points count for absolutely nothing (like on _Whose Line is it Anyway?),_ but it's always fun to have bragging rights. And yes, I'll get back to writing [The Boy Who Lived][3] as soon as writer's block dies. Enjoy! 

**Singing in the Shower**

My wife loved singing in the shower. I remember the mornings when I'd stand outside the bathroom door and listen to her singing just over the sound of the rushing water. I remember telling her that she had a beautiful voice, but she'd only yell at me for listening to her. Women are complicated. I learned that quickly enough.

I married her when we were both twenty-one. I had only been out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for two years when we exchanged vows but I knew I needed her to be Mrs. George Weasley since the moment I met her. And for ten years, until her death, she was. 

"Anastasia, hurry!" my son, Nicholas, shouted up the stairs. His hair was red like mine but he had his mother's beautiful blue eyes. A moment later, his identical twin brother, Michael (named after my own late brother) came down the stairs, holding his younger sister's hand. 

"It's about time," Nicholas muttered as his two siblings reached the bottom stair.

"Oh, put a sock in it," Michael said lazily. "We've got plenty of time to get all of our school things at Diagon Alley." Anastasia held onto her brother's hand tightly, looking wide-eyed and nervous.

"What is it, honey?" I asked, crouching down so I was eye level with her. 

"Daddy, I'm scared. I don't wanna go away to school." She flung off her brother's hand and tossed herself into my arms. She threw her arms around my neck and I lifted her up. For eleven years old, she was remarkably small for her age and still very young inside.

"It's okay," I whispered against her hair as she began to cry softly. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Your big brothers will watch you," I promised her, casting a meaningful look over her shoulder at Michael and Nicholas. The two boys were leaning against the banister, poster children for innocence. Although they were generally well behaved, I always had the unsettling feeling that the two had inherited a bit too much of my exuberance.

I pulled her gently away from me and looked into her tear-filled eyes. "You're going to make a lot of friends and you're going to learn a lot of fun, new things."

"But there won't be anybody to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight and tell me stories…" she sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

"Whenever you get lonely, send me an owl. I promise I'll send loads back." She nodded slowly and then hugged me again. I nodded at her brothers and they ran upstairs to get their trunks. I stood and offered my hand to my young daughter. "Ready to go and meet lots of new kids?" I asked. She nodded tearfully and I could understand her. She didn't want to grow up as much as I didn't want her to grow up. "Let's go get your trunk."

*** * ***

Three days later, I sat silently at the top of the stairs, debating. Was it even worth celebrating? Finally, with a sigh, I descended. The house was so cold, so dark, so... empty. I got to the kitchen and pulled the bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator. Muggles may not be all that aware of what was going on all around them, but they made good alcohol.

I crossed kitchen to the cabinets, where I pulled a wine glass off the shelf. I sat down as I read the inscription: The Two Lovebirds - Always and Forever. The wine glasses had been a gift from my sister-in-law and my brother on our second anniversary. I sighed, refusing to let my emotions take hold of me. I popped the cork open on the bottle and poured my glass half full with the drink.

"This is for you, honey. I wish you were here. I miss you like hell." I toasted the air, where my wife's glass should have been, and swallowed a sip of the drink. I set it back down on the table, pushing it away from me. She should be here. We were supposed to have forever together. I swallowed hard. 

I couldn't believe how empty the house was. Usually, I had Anastasia running down the stairs with her latest finger painting or my wife sitting at my side, giggling about all the free time we had and possible ways to fill it (She made these suggestions with waggling eyebrows and giggles.). Now my daughter was hundreds of miles away from school and my wife was dead. Life wasn't fair. 

My wife died on September fourth, three years ago. It had been our tenth anniversary. She'd been so young and full of life at the time (a lot more wild and free than when she was in her school days), but I suppose all widowers remember their wives to be full of life. She always told me that her life started when I first touched her. Ironic that her life ended in my arms, is it not?

My beautiful girl worked for the Ministry of Magic, an organization that helps keep Muggles (non-wizarding people) from finding out about the wizarding world, but Muggles weren't the main worry of the Ministry at the time. It was Lord Voldemort, a Dark wizard who had been nearly defeated once before but had been once again rapidly gaining power and supporters. He and his followers, Death Eaters, used ancient curses with obscure, unknown and sometimes nonexistent counter spells. There was only one small glimmer of hope for the Order of the Phoenix, an elite group of Aurors who sought and fought Death Eaters: Prevention Potions.

A simple Prevention Potion could block curses like Stunning Spells and Memory Charms, and more advanced Prevention Potions could even begin to fight the Imperius Curse. My wife was enlisted to help in the process of creating a potion to fight the two most terrible curses: Cruciatus Curse, which sent excruciating pain throughout its recipient, and _Avada Kedavra_, the Killing Curse. She worked alongside Severus Snape, her former Potions teacher. I teased her about it often, but she would only scowl back before bursting into giggles.

The Order of the Phoenix originally consisted of Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Sirius Black, James and Lily Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and, a later addition, Severus Snape. Snape and Figg were the only remaining members of the original Order of the Phoenix when it was reorganized; therefore, the Ministry appointed new members, starting with my sister-in-law, Hermione Weasley, who was head of the Research and Development of Magical Warfare Department when she wasn't catering to my brother, Ron, and their daughter, Charlene. The next additions were Neville Longbottom, who had improved his magically abilities drastically since I had last seen him, and Cho Chang, who had always been superb with Charm work. The final member had been Harry Potter, undoubtedly striving to follow in his parents' footsteps.

My wife was offered a position, but turned it down and remained assistant to Snape in the Potions Department of Defense. She never liked violence and was more than happy to find her niche in Prevention Potions. She always said it helped her sleep better at night that she was preventing deaths rather than causing them.

With the aid of the potions and newly developed counter spells, Voldemort fell. He never really died, as Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper at my alma mater, always insisted he wasn't human enough to die. I believed him. Voldemort's soul was taken from him by a dementor, a Dark creature that had, surprisingly, not aided Voldemort's struggle for power. He was merely a hollow shell left to die within the walls of a secluded prison, whereabouts unknown.

After his fall, my wife continued to work with Prevention Potions. I like to think she saved many lives when finally, single-handedly (Snape had retired a year earlier.), she came up with a potion that would completely and totally ward off the Cruciatus Curse.

The morning of her death, we had a horrible row. We had enough money for the two of us to quit working and still live rather luxuriously, our children's schooling taken care of. I had resigned from my position as Head of Magical Sporting Equipment (You would be astounded by the amount of Quidditch Quaffles that had been sabotaged before the Quidditch World Cups.) and requested to my wife to do the same. She pulled late hours and went in early mornings; I hardly ever saw her anymore. She said her work was her life.

It was like being slapped in the face. Of course, her work wasn't her entire life. We had three children and I knew she loved me. What she meant was that her work was important to her. At the time, even knowing that she hadn't said exactly what she meant, I was hurt deeply. I Apparated sadly away, not looking her in the eye and without our standard "I love you" and kiss goodbye. It would be an action I would regret for the rest of my life.

I had Apparated away to a small rock bluff over a tiny lake, a place that my wife and I referred to as "our spot." It was the place where I had asked her to marry me. I wasn't suicidal at the time, not that I hadn't considered it plenty of times after her death. I had finally decided there was no way I would put my children through the hell of losing both parents. I sat for several hours (I think), watching the waves crash against the shore in wild splashes and almost thinking that maybe if we had been Muggles, then life would have been easier. 

After a while, I felt an intense feeling of guilt sweep over me, the way it did every time I fought with her. I Apparated to our empty home and quietly walked to our back garden. One of my wife's most cherished possessions was her garden, which she insisted on keeping in the ordinary Muggle way. It was a far cry from winning any awards, but I thought it was beautiful. I picked a rose (already hearing her in my mind, scolding me for upsetting the balance of color in the garden) and Apparated to the laboratory where she worked.

Tynen Laboratory was a large facility with thousands of separate labs to conduct different experiments. Heavy wards surrounded the place and only those with special licenses were allowed to Apparate within its walls. I didn't have one, and was therefore was rerouted into a small room, where visitors were approved or thrown out.

The Modulator, a person who chose who entered and who stayed, was a friend of my younger brother, Ronald. Her name was Parvati Patil and I believe they went to the Yule Ball together in my sixth year. Or perhaps he went with her twin, Padma. I can't remember. Parvati knew me by sight, but I had to take the regular series of tests anyway. It included taking rather foul-tasting Purity Potion and an examination to make sure I wasn't bringing any Muggle-type weapons within the building. It was quite tedious, but I wasn't in the mood to argue with her. Finally, my rose and I were allowed to enter the building.

My wife worked in room four hundred twenty-seven of Hallway Poe, which was on the third floor every Wednesday. The rest of the days of the week it was on the eighth floor and on the weekends, it was at the end of the hall. This reminded me all too much of my Hogwarts days. Luckily, there weren't any trick steps.

Because of shifting corridors and strangely shaped doors that only small creatures could hope to go through, I called upon the Mouse to guide me there. The Mouse was a small person (not an animal thankfully, for I have a terrible fear of rodents) who led visitors from the Entrance Hall to their destination. I have to give that person a lot of credit, for it was no easy feat to guide someone through Tynen Laboratory. 

I got to the end of Hallway Poe on the third floor (It was Wednesday.) and the Mouse disappeared. She always does. Holding my rose in one hand and an apology at the tip of my tongue, I knocked on the door. There was no answer. While that would set off alarms in a more paranoid person's mind, it did nothing to me. My wife was usually totally immersed in her work and almost always had the Soundproof Charm turned on, preventing outside distractions.

I slid my wand out of my sleeve and tapped it to the door. "_Alohomora_," I murmured as I did so. Grumbling about trying to get some sleep, the door opened and admitted me within. 

I could never have prepared for the sight I saw after that. My wife, a meticulously clean woman, had vials shattered on the ground, cauldrons tipped over and an entire jar of butterfly wings smashed beneath a pile of parchment. I knew something was wrong and the rose dropped from my hand.Panicking, I searched the entire laboratory. The place where she worked was large and sectioned off for different experiments and hazardous chemicals. Finally, in a small corner section, I saw her sprawled across the floor, left arm bent at an unnatural angle.

My heart jumped into my throat as I rushed to her side. I immediately saw her eyes were closed and her chest still, not breathing. I whispered her name as I picked her head up and placed it into my lap. Miraculously, her chest hitched and she drew in a ragged breath. Agonizingly slowly, her eyelids fluttered open to reveal her beautiful blue eyes, dull with pain. I brushed hair out of her face and saw my fingertips come away bloody, due to a gash along her temple. 

"George…" she whispered. I nodded.

"It's me," I whispered back. It hadn't occurred to me until later to go for help; I suppose that when she began to speak, I knew they were her final words. No spell or potion would have been able to save her.

"Take care… of our… children," she breathed. After the great effort taken to produce the sentence, she coughed and a small rivulet of blood bubbled out of the corner of her mouth. "I love you." Her eyes slowly closed and she was still.

"No… no, wait," I begged, stroking her hair. "Don't leave me. Please, God, don't take her." My eyes filled with tears that began to fall down my cheeks, but I took no notice. "I need you." I rocked her back and forth in my arms, murmuring all the spells I could think of, whispering her name, begging her to come back to me, desperately needing to hear her voice one final time. "I love you," I murmured in a choked sob. But she was gone.

Seconds, minutes, hours could have passed without me knowing the difference. The next thing I remembered was someone trying to pull my beautiful wife out of my arms. I held onto her, convincing myself that if I could just hold her a little longer, she would come back. She had to. I heard a faint murmuring of a spell -something that would put me to sleep, no doubt- and then darkness. I was a widower before I awakened. 

I found later that she had been killed by the final remaining Death Eaters: Draco Malfoy, Ernie Macmillian and Marcus Flint. Hate welled inside me and rage poisoned my mind. The only thing I had been able to think of was revenge. It wasn't until they were thrown into Azkaban (where they died within months) by Order of the Phoenix that I felt true redemption for my wife's wasteful death.

Her funeral was planned mostly by my brothers, Charlie and Fred, as I could only float through the next few weeks like a zombie. I guess that at first, I hadn't believed that she was dead. I thought it was some sick joke that someone had cooked up; my wife couldn't be gone. Then, anger. How could she have left me alone like this? She should have been more careful with career choices. She should have quit like I asked her to. Didn't she know that she was going to destroy our entire family, emotionally? Then it'd just been self-hatred and guilt for being angry with her. With her memory. _It should have been me,_ I told myself over and over. _It should have been me._

Although Charlie and Fred planned most of the funeral, I was firm in one aspect: closed casket. I wanted my children to remember her as she was, not some cold, lifeless body lying in a box. I wanted Anastasia to remember her mum singing her to sleep. I wanted Nicholas to remember all the times she magicked away his cuts and wiped his tears away. I wanted Michael to remember my wife telling him how proud she was that Michael had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team and how he was the best Chaser Professor McGonagall had seen since James Potter.

I myself needed a happier memory to replace the final one I had of her. I chose the day I proposed to her, on top of our rock bluff. I had been so nervous that I'd nearly dropped the ring after I asked her. She had looked down at it, eyes wide then back up at me. She didn't answer me verbally; she merely took my face in her hands and kissed me.

"I hope that wasn't a kiss-off," I joked nervously. She smiled and threw her arms around me, whispering the words "Yes, I'll marry you."

In the past few months, Cho Chang has been stopping by often and "bumping" into me in Diagon Alley. She never fails to mention that she divorced her husband (whom I only know by the title "that cheating bastard.") and would like a sweet, sensitive, caring man in her life. I always politely refuse her invitations to dinner and Apparate home. I couldn't possibly consider being with another woman.

It may seem cruel, depriving my children of a motherly figure after my wife's passing, but I think a substitute would shatter them even more. And so I am truly alone now, with my children away at school and the woman I loved, and still love, dead. I try and occupy myself, forcing myself to live on without her. I went back to my job, but only worked half the hours so I could be there for my kids.

It's a strange thing to get used to a person so much and then have them leave you. I can still feel her presence sometimes. I can rarely shake the feeling that when I wake, maybe her half of the bed is always a little warmer than it should be... that the covers are a little more messed up and that there is a slight indentation in the pillow next to mine... that a whiff of her perfume passes my nose as I turn a corner.

I've nearly convinced myself that all of this is in my mind. But sometimes, late at night, if I listen hard enough, I can just make out my wife singing in the shower.

**As Fleur would say… "Zee End!"**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=82895
   [2]: mailto:george_weasleys_girlfriend@playful.com
   [3]: http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=86033



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